As part of our continuing series tying to explore what our region’s pubs mean to us as places of meeting or historical interest, Leeds Blogger Chris King contacted me to put across an interesting counterpoint to my opening piece on enjoying pubs with people. I found his point of view refreshing and I’d like to share this with you today. Take it away, Chris….
To ignore pubs is to ignore interaction, friendship and, probably most important of all, conversation- Leigh Linley, The Culture Vulture, January 2011
When I read Leigh’s opening to the new Tavern Tales section of this website, I found myself agreeing wholeheartedly with everything he said – until the very last sentence, that is.
Then, like an essayist of old, I immediately (within reason for a procrastinator) wanted to fire off a literary counterpoint. Not to argue simply against the words chosen, but to offer a different perspective; to convey a sentiment far detached from the one presented.
For it is my belief that to truly embrace a pub; to accept it for what it is or what it can be, is as much about giving yourself over to anonymity, reclusiveness and probably most important of all, the unspoken truth.
The unspoken truth can come in many forms and guises within a pub. It can be the man stood at the bar with an endless stream of stories, though if you spend an hour in their company they really have nothing to say. It can be the well presented business man, who escapes his poorly paid, dreary job, but talks sufficiently loud on his phone to convey an air of importance; before he and his cheap suit crumple in to the same chair most lunch times.
It is the couple who are together at the table; close in body but distant in mind. Both look over each other’s shoulder to see if there is anyone more exciting out there for them – an exotic stranger to whisk them away from all of this.
It is the bar staff who roll out the pleasantries as though they’ve just completed an NVQ in people management, then sneer their way around the pub as they collect glasses – almost desperate to inform you that this isn’t their real vocation. A pint glass is not where their dreams end.
Even the venues try desperately to hide something from us all. A lick of paint covers the damp patch that simply won’t go away. Dimmers suggest a moody, romantic ambience – but can just as easily suggest a shabby pub, happy to hide from the glare of attention. Even the smell of bleach covers last night’s sick. I may paint a not too happy picture for our drinking holes above, but to me the unspoken truth holds the key to why I go to pubs.
A busy pub is not necessarily a good pub, or a noisy pub a happy pub – as any Beer Blogger might testify when they castigate one of the many chain establishments. Often it is the quiet, empty, musty, even edgy pubs that hold the most character. Yet no matter how busy, how great the beer or how noteworthy the décor, all pubs offer their clientele the same key thing – the ability to sit back, to absorb and to be fascinated by those around us.
I people watch in pubs. It’s what I do. Even when I’m out, embracing that conversation Leigh holds so dear. I am always on the look out, always taking in what I see and, more often than not, making up a story from what plays out before me.
Like a black and white American detective in a narrow brimmed hat, armed only with a note book and a drinking habit, I am mentally making notes – trying to guess the next move. Trying to gauge what I can about a person simply by the way they hold a glass; the way they hold themselves.
Pubs let you sink in to the furniture, allow you to make eye contact but never actually make contact. They let you watch from a distance, or from a foot away. They allow you in to the lives of others – like an interactive 3D television without the need for the silly glasses. Just by being there, you are already an extra in someone else’s life. You may bump in to them or hold a door open for them. If you want to take it to an extreme, you may change the course of their lives just by getting served before them.
They let you watch an individual flick from watch to wall clock and mutter under their breath, then lovingly embrace the next person to walk through the door – were they annoyed, or genuinely concerned? Or there is the friend who is always on the periphery of the group, never overly pushing their point of view across – hanger-on or confident in their knowledge, not to be overly concerned by their friends making idiots of themselves?
Every person in the pub holds a story. It may not be an interesting one, in the same way the venue may be plain, simple, ordinary. But it is those very people, that non-descript pub that could offer so much more; all you have to do is just open your imagination to the possibilities.
To sit in a pub, with someone you know, talking about a subject you love is one of life’s great pleasures. But to sit in the same pub, with a pint, your imagination and a host of peculiarly deceitful strangers can be far more intoxicating, than any heady brew served up by the landlord. To get lost, not in the conversation, but in the realms of possibility is what makes the unspoken truth so special – It’s the reason why I love pubs.
To ignore pubs is to ignore intrigue, anonymity and, probably most important of all, people.
Chris King is a husband, father and Londoner living in Leeds. He writes about a host of subjects including life, family, food and drink on his blog www.northernwrites.co.uk and can be found on twitter: @NorthernWrites